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by chrissy2



Series: When We Were Young [2]
Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:17:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrissy2/pseuds/chrissy2
Summary: The first name Saul's little ones gave him was "Uncle Rose". Later, it became "Papa Rose".Sequel to When We Were Young. Post reunion. Post Not In This Lifetime.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing and I get no money.

Ever since that crazy night with Aerosmith back in 1989, Axl and Sebastian Bach remained good friends. They kept in touch and thanks to today's technology, they were able to talk every other day about the stuff that had been going on in their lives. (With Axl's messaging going on and on, paragraph after paragraph. And Baz' spelling was just horrendous.) To those who knew them, the union was mystifying: two of the most fiery front men in rock history--getting along? Everyone thought they would be at each other's throats; or at least Axl with Bach, for he had a long history of starting shit with literally every other front man.

That isn't to say that Baz didn't sometimes annoy him. But he could never hurt him. Baz was not the hardcore punk that everyone thought he was. He was really more like an overgrown child--a child that never means to hurt anyone, and all the things he started were just fun pranks gone bad. (Accept punching a guy for throwing a bottle. That's not fun or innocent no matter how you look at it. But boy, did he turn around after that and become like a scared, timid kid that just got sent to the principle's office. It's also not fun or innocent cheating on the mother of his first child, to which his logic was, "Hey, we're not married. So it's allowed." Actually, yeah. That kind of thinking is still kind of child-like, now that Axl thought about it.) 

There was a light in his eyes that he never wanted to ruin. Even if he found himself grumbling with Sebastian, the guy would find some way to lighten the mood back up: laughing it off, telling a funny joke or a funny story with his voice acting skills. Axl always thought he was way better with story telling. Others said they were equally entertaining.

He really deserved more shows to voice for. It saddened him thinking that Baz was just that: a naive child that had been taken advantage of his whole life: not liked by classmates until they found out he had a pretty voice, used by cold corporate organizations until he was kicked out, not getting any credit for collaborations, and mocked by interviewers.

They shared a vulnerability. They were both abandoned by their bands. They know they will never experience another high like that again.

So they tell each other everything.

Well, almost.

Lately, Axl had been--conflicted--about talking about certain things. It was nothing against Baz. Usually, both of them just throw out whatever is on their mind like vomit, no matter how inappropriate or offensive or untrue it might be. It's one of the reasons why Axl kept in the shadows for so long, avoided many interviews. He was a bad liar, and if he were to be asked specific questions, he wouldn't be able to lie, or tell a convincing lie without a look on his face or his body language giving it away.

The first thing he didn't tell Baz was him talking to Slash again. At the time, he didn't know if it would turn out okay talking to him again after years of publicly talking shit about one another. But they got along just fine, and the media circled them like the vultures they were. Baz found out then.

Another reason why Axl held off on telling Baz about them talking again is because he didn't want to hurt his feelings. Baz still was not really talking with Skid Row. He was still an outcast.

But Baz reacted as warmly as he usually does. He was so happy for Axl: "You know, you've been, uh--just sad. For so long. And angry. You had all these problems with other people and yourself. But now things are getting better. What did I tell you. Everything'll be alright in the end."

They were sitting out at a table at one of their favorite cafes, Axl in his shades and hat, and Baz taking refuge wrapped in one of his comfy scarfs. As they talked, occasionally fans would recognize them and they would cater to them. Axl tried to not be annoyed. Couldn't they just talk to them like they were just people. He was getting better at not down talking them, though. He had to consider that Baz would probably do anything to be as adored at he was again.

When Baz asks Axl how long they had been talking, Axl tells him it had been a few months and Baz' eyes waver downward, "Oh."

There's a pause. Axl senses Baz thinking about how he kept it from him for so long. Another child-like thing about him was his pouting. He'd pout because he wasn't told something that everyone else knew. He'd pout if he really wanted to go somewhere, like a certain restraunt or go bowling or see a movie, but no one else wanted to.

To help with the awkwardness, Axl takes a sip of his tea.

And Baz just says flat out: "So you guys fucking again?"

And Axl spit out his tea all over the sidewalk. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the real reason he held back.

Axl wipes the dripping bits of tea off his chin with his napkin: "What the hell kind of question is that."

"Well, are you?"

"No."

Baz grins so hard that his nose crunches up: "You are."

"Baz."

"I know when you're lying, man. Don't bullshit me."

"We're not fucking." Axl then looks down at his clothes and wipes off any tea spots on them. "He's married and has children."

"Like that stopped anyone."

"We're not young, dumb, and full of come anymore."

"Yeah, but you're not dead."

"I will not ruin his life again. I will not ruin Perla's life. Or his kids'. You know, I think I love those children as if they were my own."

Baz finally nods, that ocassional sad look in his eyes back, and that semi-sad smile. "You're right, you're right. Just playin' with ya."

Axl really wanted to talk with Baz about it, though. That second "thing". He needed to tell someone. He'd start a diary, but he's far too impatient to write it all down. He's always been a talker. He hadn't even told his fucking therapist what had been going on. He had been skipping appointments.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the years of seclusion, Axl had some bittersweet dreams in both his states of mania and depression. He'd dream about past times, and they were so vivid, he actually thought they were the reality. He dreamt of still being with those in Guns N Roses. 

The first ones. The original. The real Guns N Roses; with Slash and Duff and Izzy and Steven. In the dreams, he'd often think, "Oh, it was just a dream." That twist in perception. The dream of the dream was what he was now: old and alone. Then he'd wake up in one of his large, empty homes and he realized this was what was true.

When he heard the rumors of Slash wanting to talk to him again, he kept himself aloof. He didn't want to get excited or hopeful. He didn't think it would turn out to be true. He never imagined they would be exchanging numbers and then playing together and then going to each other's houses. 

What touched him the most were the times he joined Saul with Perla and their sons. Perla was warm and friendly, and their sons--oh. They were not his children. They were not his family, and he felt like an intruding asshole for it, but Axl was sure he was feeling that level of protectiveness and wholesome love that all parents feel. He had a strong urge to care for them and protect them as much as Saul and Perla no doubt did. 

They were nearly the same ages he was when he went through that "train wreck" in his life. God, how did he even survive. Looking at Saul's sons, and comparing their ages and level of naivete and innocence--it made Axl realize that his life really was ruined before it was even started. And no child should ever experience what he and his kin, his peers, went through. He grew up thinking that all that toxicity was normal! That it was fine!

The first name his sons gave him was "Uncle Rose". He was the guy that dad kept magazines of. And photos. He wrote a book about him (his autobiohraphy, which they hopefully did not read; let the past stay in the past). Later, after a few more visits, it suddenly became "Papa Rose". And he had mixed feelings about this.

It's a term that has been mocked to hell, but Axl was almost triggered by it. He didn't want to be anyone's papa. What if he turned out like the two in his life. It was why he never had children of his own.

Axl felt like a parasite of other people's happiness, a leech, a borrower of lives, a hole people fall into.

Goddamnit.

They didn't do that to hurt or confuse him. He was confusing himself.

Why couldn't he do anything without his mind drifting over into dark places.

Why couldn't he ever be level-headed.

Why couldn't he ever be motherfucking happy.

**Fuck.**

It happened almost every time Axl came over to visit, or when Slash invited him over. Everything would start out wonderful. The boys would run out and greet him with a hug and a line of questions and stories. They would hang out in the family room or have a meal Perla made in the dining room and have a blast. 

Then, later, Axl's moods would change, his enthusiasm would drop. He'd think about how he never had a happy family. He'd compare his boyhood to theirs. He never wants them to ever get hurt, though life would eventually bring them pain. Why did this world have to be like that. Why couldn't everyone be safe and sound. He wished he never took his anger out on Slash and his mom and grandmother, who back in the day, were kind enough to let him sleep in Slash's room--for free. He wished he never made everyone leave the band. He wished he had never spent so many years in seclusion.

In complete, utter misery.

He probably should continue seeing his therapist again. He should probably talk about it. Really talk about it--

"Axl?"

Axl's racing mind is cut short by Saul's voice, by his gentle but strong hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah?" He's still wavering from his strong train of thought having its breaks jerked back so suddenly. 

"You're zoning out again."

Axl takes a moment to look around and observe his surroundings. They were in the quiet and dimness of Saul's still living room. Out the wide living room window, Axl processed some movement. Some running blurs. Ugh, damn fading vision. His sight adjusts and he recognized them to be his sons, playing soccer out in the front yard. "Oh. Guess I haven't been sleeping much."

"Something troubling you?"

"Just the usual stuff."

"Like what?"

Ugh. He didn't want to dive back into that. 

Before Axl can even attempt to put his pain into words that he usually never seems to run out of until times like this, he feels a free strand of his waving hair tickling his ear, and Axl realizes that it is not a free strand of hair, but Saul's hand caressing the side of his face, the finger tips along the line of hair and forehead.

The train of thought is cut off again. But not so abruptly like last time. It's more like they are being melted in a boiling pot. It's only slight nauseating. Axl's eyes first look to the floor. He gets so shy when Saul is this close, staring at him intently. Finally, he dares to look him in the eye. Slash did stuff like this when he was going to lean in to kiss him.

And he does, slowly this time. He used to not give Axl time to react. He was almost forceful, grabbing his head and kissing him hard. Why was he doing this to him. Axl did tell Baz the truth, though. They were not fucking. He wouldn't allow it. It's just the fact that Saul had been trying. At least he had self-control when Axl said no, only allowing them to kiss and lay together quietly. Perhaps Saul's desire died down quickly due to their age, or perhaps it was because he would soften at the sight of Axl crying. So far, every time they laid together, he shed tears until he fell asleep. He didn't know if he was crying from thinking about all the time lost and the tragedy of their fall out or him not calling him to work things out when Slash slipped that note under his door all those years ago. He didn't know if he was crying because he loved him so much that it was almost petrifying. He couldn't understand why Saul would do these things when he had Perla and his boys--but oh god, Axl wanted his touch so bad. He couldn't understand why Saul loved him just as much, looking at him like he was beautiful.

Axl only allows Saul to give him one hard kiss, no tongue. Then he pulls away, caressing his curls: "I should go. Thank you for inviting me over. I'll message you when I get home."

But as soon as Axl turns, he feels that inevitable hand grabbing his shoulder. It's firm and setting it's statement, but still loose enough to oppose and wiggle out of. "Stay for the night. You can have our spare room."

If Axl leaves, he's just going to go back to a big, empty house. Alone with his thoughts, his nightmares for memories.


	3. Chapter 3

It just so turns out that Axl packed a couple sets of clothes and hygenics just in case this ended up happening. It was happening more and more, and he needed to tread carefully. He fucked everything up last time, but that was over twenty years ago, and twenty years can change anyone. He needed to be patient and agreeable.

It was like Saul knew he would easily fall to the temptation. He knew how lonely he was. And as said, everything was alright so long as Axl minded Perla and the boys and tamed their sometimes thoughtless animal of a father. He really was the eternal teenager. But so was Axl. Have you seen his t-shirts, with the anime and fantasy-influenced and comic book shit.

He checks the time on his phone. Baz may or may not message him in a minute, either out of boredom or out of habit; maybe to talk to him about his soap opera (you heard right, Sebastian Bach watches soap operas) or about what he and Suzanne did that day or other. At the same time, Axl wondered what Perla was up to. She wasn't here when he arrived around noon, and she still wasn't here. Perhaps she went out with some girlfriends or her mother. It wouldn't surprise Axl none if Slash was the stay-at-home type and she was the wife that went to Hooters or something. Slash found the woman he wanted: a real girls-next-door type that was secretly a partier, a nympho. She could party harder than her husband. She had the duality of a creature of the night and the streetsmarts of Izzy.

Because there's no lock on the door, Axl changes in the closet, quickly slipping on a different t-shirt and pajama bottoms. Then he goes into the attached bathroom to brush his teeth. 

Even though he is falling asleep alone, every time he spends the night here, or at any other of Saul's homes, he falls asleep quickly. Faster than he would have gone to sleep at any of his own places. Before he is able to see if Baz messaged him or not.

Axl reaches to shut off the lamp on the nightstand, descending the room into pitch blackness. Only a handful of times does he stir in and out of that easy sleep, detecting, feeling the warmth of the movement in the blackness.

It's a wordless ritual now. He will hear the door creak open and close, then feel the sinking of the mattress. The warm hands will snake around his waist and they will lay like that for a while. The next time he stirs, the warm hands are gone and he turns to see the figure laying on the opposite side of the bed. Sometimes they just get too hot laying together and have to distance themselves. That guy was a big, ol' heat machine, a werewolf. He can only see the moon lit outline of the lump in the blankets. 

Sometimes Axl has to remind himself that he is at Saul's place and not at one of his own. He has to remind himself it's not a dream.

After comes a certain worry. He wonders if Perla suspects anything. Does she notice her husband slipping out of their own bed? Does she wonder what he does? Does she connect the dots that every time he leaves the room at night, maybe half of those nights are when he is there, sleeping in the guest room? 

The worry dies down when he thinks that Perla is way too confident, way too vocal to hide such suspicions. She would definitely ask Slash or him if something was up. Because--fucking Axl Rose can't lie. And her husband, with how much she has been able to tame him and get him back on his feet every time he was stuck in a rut, it probably was no different.

The next time he stirs is for the blue lighting of 6 AM. Axl can already sense it before sitting up. Slash is gone, and he knows that something is wrong. It's like the boiling sensation, only it's been left to burn black, to a crisp. 

The worry returns. He wonders if Perla found them sharing the bed. 

If there had been an argument, surely the passionate couple would have been heard. He would have woken up. His medication can sometimes make him sleep very deeply, but still. The voices would have at least been twisted into his dreams. 

Axl takes a deep breath and heads for the door. 


	4. Chapter 4

When Axl makes it into the living room, the house is how a house tends to normally be at 6 AM: still, dim, blue, almost quiet enough for a white noise, no one in sight. (When they were younger, needless to say, their "typical 6 AM house", or studio or hotel room or plane, as sometimes they were "of no fixed address", was far from that. They partied until some ungodly hour and there would be trash, drugs, broken furniture, and naked bodies everywhere; those that passed out and those about to start fucking or in the middle of fucking.) Still, the uneasiness is there. Slash does not normally slip away like that. A part of him nags that Slash did not have to answer to him for everything he did. Which is true. 

He always feels rude going into another house's pantry in the morning, so he does not eat anything. Instead, he slowly goes for the living room, where he finds the person on his mind, and the sight honestly scared Axl a little for a moment or two. Saul was sitting straight up on the couch, eyes staring out the blue-tinted, wide, living room window, looking like a ghost. His thick curls were parted and spaced out just enough for him to see the gaze most people of the world probably would never see in their lifetimes. The large Hollywood houses across him looked about just as quiet and still as this one (that they knew of). He was either full of sorrow, tired, or was empty of human emotion entirely. It startled Axl for a moment because way back when, when he had depressive episodes, he'd sometimes do the same thing. Only he would sit and stare for hours or days, not responding to anyone; lock all the doors and windows, shut off all the lights, and leave notes on his door as a way of talking to people.

Axl starts: "Hey."

Saul's empty gaze out the window does not falter or change. "Hey."

Axl turns to look around the room and he is not sure if he is really looking for something, or if he's trying to look at anything but Saul's all-too-familiar, empty eyes. And they weren't even looking at him. "The boys up?"

"School."

Curious. He wonders of the world-renown Slash let his sons go to public school or to a private school. 

"Everything alright?" Axl then finally asks.

Saul doesn't respond, but his gaze finally starts looking elsewhere. But they are still not looking at Axl, just along the floor.

"Perla still asleep?"

Saul finally turns to look at him, and his eyes change. They look squinted and confused. "She isn't here."

The boiling sensation comes back. "Where's she at?"

"You don't know? We're getting divorced."

The boiling pot boils over to where Axl starts getting dizzy. He has to adjust his vision.

Did he hear that right. Why was this happening. He can't tell if the boil is anger or bitterness. All he could think of was how dense Saul was. To him, this was the equivalent of throwing happiness away with both hands.

"I didn't talk to you about it because I knew you would blame yourself. And I thought you already knew? Some journalists have been talking about it."

Axl did not go on social media all that much. It was recommended by his therapist to not necessarily cut himself off, but to distance himself from journalist garbage that was a waste of time and energy and would only bother him. Instead, Axl was more political, but he was also picky about where to get his information on events.

"I shouldn't be here." He turns back for the spare room.

"What're you doing."

Axl can sense him follow closely behind, a swift shadow at his back side, down the hall and through the door. Axl starts for his bag and hygenics from the bathroom.

"Axl, don't," he hears Saul say. "We've been doing this for two years now. There's no going back. We can't make things better between us."

Axl harshly shoves his things in his bag. "How could you do this to your sons? You had everything and you're just throwing it away."

"She wanted me to change," Saul concludes, gently grabbing Axl's wrist to stop him and get his attention. "I was tired of her pushing. It was either change or divorce, and I wanted a divorce. And she did not oppose that."

"Because she loves you." Axl could feel his eyes start to visibly wither and show sadness. "She really loves you. Call her. Work things out."

"Axl..."

"Don't do this to your boys. You're so selfish." All Axl could think about was Baz and how hurt he was when his parents split. And Saul's boys, they had not even stepped into the chaotic world that was "being the child of a celebrity". Their teenage years were going to be hell. The heat of being caught in the middle of two passionate, divorced, celebrity parents would make it worse. 

Did these two know anything about kids.

Saul himself often went on about how the  ** _divorce of his parents fucked him up._**

His hand still on Axl's wrist, Saul was now giving him a pair of eyes that Axl could only compare to Duff's: down to earth, sensible. "We loved each other. We really did. We helped each other when we had to, when we were at our lowest points in our lives. She helped me when I left Guns N Roses and I didn't know what to do with myself. She gave me happiness for a good while. We started a family. We gave each other company and kept our bed sides warm, gave each other someone to wake up to. But then--we just faded. I don't know what happened. What we had...it slipped away. I don't know if I changed or she changed or we both did. We just weren't happy anymore. What was the point of staying together."


	5. Chapter 5

"I can't be here."

"Axl, it's no one's fault, and if there are people at fault, it's either me or Perla or both of us. It's not your fault."

"But the boys will think it is."

"Then we'll talk it out."

"You need to talk it all out with her."

"Axl, please..."

"I'll message you when I get home."

"Axl, I've been alone."

"You're not alone."

"Stay."

"I can't right now. I need to think."

Axl hastily rushes out the door before Saul's tender and warm hands can soothe and stop him, before his gentle voice can swoon him. He's out the door, in the clothes he slept in. He has to work with his car door handle a couple of times. It's the same with the keys and starting the engine. He only sees the blurred shadow of Slash standing out his door and that is all he can bare to process right now. He can't bare to look at what kind of face he is wearing when he pulls out of his driveway.

He drives away with no real plan in mind. He has no idea where to go. And he probably should not be behind the wheel when he was feeling slightly dissociated.

When he passes all the buildings--all blurs--exits town, and makes it to the middle of nowhere, drifting on some back road in the woods, he sloppily parks at the shoulder, the wheels pushing out a wave of dirt at the sudden jerk of the break.

He thinks he needs to go home. But he did not know where home was. He had a number of houses, but were any of them home? 

He grips the wheel. He can feel his eyes burning, and he tries to fight it. But the heat of the tears win. It's better to not fight what's natural and harmless. He leans into the wheel and lets the sobs choke out, the hot tears soaking his lap and hands. God, how many more times was he just going to fucking cry. Just how much did he bottle up in his youth to make him like this.

A faded voice similar to Sebastian's pops up in his head: Better than getting pissed off and wrecking everything.

Axl reaches into his pocket for his phone, even if he feels like he may throw up or his vision is too blurred to see anything. His intuition was right. He had one message.

It was Baz:  _hey r u up?_

Guess he messaged late that night and Axl didn't answer it this time. As said, he normally did not fall alseep that quickly when he was at any of his houses. He was usually awake at wherever he was at, no matter how late or early.

He really wants to tell Baz. He really does. He needs to talk about these things. But at the same time, he can't. He won't talk about it because he already knows all the possible answers Baz or his therapist or Duff would give him. And he wasn't prepared to ponder about the answers for the answers.

When his tears finally find a break and the sickness in his stomach settles, he dries his eyes--red as his hair and passion, blistered, hurt--and takes a deep breath. Then another. He needs to sort this all out himself. What kind of manager was he if he couldn't even manage his own fucking senses. (Guess the sensitive, tormented artist is still in that businessman somewhere. Guess that part of him didn't die away after all.)

Axl creates scenarios in his mind that sound like the practical Duff and the easy-going Baz to balance everything out. He first thinks the obvious: he needs to find a place to rest and clear his mind.

Duff: Just sort them out here. You know all your options, you're just trying to avoid them more and more.

Baz: Just lean back in your seat and rest your eyes. If a cop finds you, just tell them the truth. Or use your charm and title to get out of it. You've done this many times before. 

Next thought: Should he go back to Slash?

Duff: Of Course. You guys just started talking and you're gonna distance yourself again because of one small freak out?

Baz: That's up to you. It would be really sad if that separation thing happened again. 

What if Slash won't talk to him again after this.

Duff: You're overreacting.

Baz: I don't see why he would stop talking to you. You guys have had way worse things happen and you got over it. You're both stronger than that.

Does he love Saul? Really love him?

Duff: The only person that would know that is you. Do you love him?

Baz: I think you have always loved him. Even way back when. Even when you were not aware of it. Watching you two on stage together--anyone with a pair of eyes could see it. Also, in case you forgot--you guys fucked. How could you guys fuck without some level of attraction?

Should he turn back around now.

Duff: I say do it and get it over with. If you don't do it now, you will regret it.

Baz: Please don't run away again. I hate seeing you hurt yourself like this.

What about Perla?

Duff: She's never there anymore. And it won't be any of her business anyway. She's strong. She'll continue on with her life.

Baz: Ditto. And love, love like this, rarely gives you a second chance like this. You're one of the lucky ones.

And the boys?

Duff: They will understand when they're older.

Baz: They'll understand when they fall in love--truly fall in love.

At the corner of his eye, a more subtle, gentle break on his train of thought, his phone lights up. Slash's name shows up across the screen.

Duff: Answer it.

Baz: Do it.

His heart instantly thumping up his throat like he's a goddamn teenager, his shaking hand unlocks the screen and he thumbs at the message bubble almost too hard for his phone.

_I'm so sorry. If I scared you or made you upset, I am so so sorry. I don't want what happened to us all those years ago to happen again. If you need more time to yourself, have all the time you need. Just please don't tell me it's over. Really over. I will stop kissing you and touching you and just be friends if that is what you really want. If what I have been doing is what is making you uncomfortable, I'll stop. I just need you in my life. I don't want you to leave me again. Please. We can work this out._


	6. Chapter 6

_We can work this out_

_We can work this out_

_We can work this out_

_We can work this out_

Duff: Don't make the same mistake again.

Baz: Turn around now.

The wait at Saul's front door feels like another eternity. When the guitarist answers, tired shock on his face and words barely stuttering out of those full lovely lips, Axl's hand slides through his dark curls and he holds the back of his head as he extends his neck to kiss him.

The first thing he can't process is walking through the door, Saul slamming the door shut, and stumbling back into the living room, where they separated for a moment, gazing into each other's souls.

(Axl remembers finding that note that Slash slipped under his door all those years ago, and he remembers thinking about how old that note was. Had it been too late to call him back. It might as well have been. He was afraid to call him. He was afraid that once Slash answered, his  **stupid fucking bipolar mouth** would open and he'd say the wrong thing, the worst thing, completely ruin his chance of fixing the problem. Sometimes that was the reason for his episodes of being mute. On the inside, he could hear the ticking of a bomb, and he did not utter a word for those times, even if this silence lasted for days, weeks. He was afraid he would get angry and scare away loved ones.)

Axl now can't remember if Saul gave him enough time to whisper  _I'm sorry_ before taking his mouth in his back--harder, hands gripping the sides of his head--and those lips make their way to Axl's nose and cheek and collarbone and back to his mouth as they stumbled into the spare room. (Saul probably couldn't yet handle having another in what used to be his and Perla's room. Axl gets that.) Axl tries to whisper things like _I shouldn't have done that_ and  _I've missed you_ and  _I love you,_ but it's like Saul is swallowing the words, swallowing his voice.

Maybe Saul did it before doubt would sink in, before either one of them could change their minds. Maybe in a few hours, they will have second thoughts. Maybe in a few hours, they will have another misunderstanding. These feelings are almost too hot to handle, too hot to **not** have some arguments here and there.

Chemistry. 

Axl remembers when he was younger, the concept of the more people loved one another, the more they were likely to argue--was just incomprehensible to him. 

Right now, they will lose themselves in each other before the possibility of regret. In a few hours, Axl may walk out confused, have the same dialogue in his head in the car, and come back again. 

Axl feels the bed on his back side, but he can't remember the stumble into the room much less the fall onto his back. Saul's warm hands and tongue are making him forget things now. He's making everything in his mind melt in a boiling pot again, back to the moderate temperature. In a few hours, the boil may burn to a crisp again. At the back of his mind, Axl knows this. Saul probably knows too. But they don't care. They want to be selfish.

Axl wants to ask Saul to close more of the windows to shroud the room into as much darkness as possible. He still is not ready for him to see his middle-aged body. But before he can, Saul's swift hand has already pushed his shirt up to just below his collarbone. Before Axl can learn to be shy and modest, Saul's mouth is already down his exposed chest.

Ah! He's still a biter.

In a few hours, one of his nipples may be purple from the possessiveness of Saul's teeth. He may have more than one marking. 

He may hurt in a few hours. But they'll see later.

 

END.


End file.
